


Flying While Female

by enigmaticblue



Series: R.B. Banner [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Female Bruce Banner, Gen, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:38:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8522470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: Blythe Banner doesn't like to fly.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few short fics to post, mostly outtakes from Her Heart's Apocalypse, but also a continuation of the story.

Blythe hates flying. She’s mildly claustrophobic, and being 30,000 feet in the air in a pressurized metal canister has triggered an anxiety attack in the past. Unfortunately, she’s often required to fly to conferences, and sometimes manages to get away to visit her aunt, and flying is a necessary evil. 

 

Various acquaintances and co-workers have offered their own advice for how to get by. One advisor suggested taking a couple of drinks before boarding, and a fellow grad student offered one of her Xanax. Alcohol as a means of dealing with a stressful situation is definitely out for her—she has no desire to be anything like her father—and she doesn’t like the idea of being drugged either. 

 

What works for her is the same thing that’s worked any time she’s been unduly stressed, or anxious, or depressed: science. Blythe brings along a few scientific journals in her carry-on and works her way through them, losing herself in theories and equations, scribbling in the margins, and letting the articles inspire her own work. 

 

If Blythe can focus on the science, she can even forget she’s flying. 

 

The problem is that not every fellow traveler recognizes that having her nose in a scientific journal is a silent plea to avoid conversation. 

 

Blythe is waiting to board her flight, reading about the newest experiments in particle physics, when someone sits down right next to her. The airport isn’t so crowded as to make it necessary for someone to choose that seat, and she’s noticed over the years that this is usually the precursor to a conversation. 

 

“What are you reading?” 

 

Blythe refuses to look up. “A scientific journal. It’s for work.” 

 

She’s found that if she uses work as an excuse, she’s more likely to shut down the conversation quickly. 

 

“Oh, really? What do you do? Are you a scientist?” 

 

Blythe heaves a purely internal sigh and glances up to see what she’s dealing with—middle-aged man, wearing pressed khakis and a polo shirt with loafers. There’s a briefcase on the floor next to his seat, and his hands are empty. 

 

“I’m a nuclear physicist,” she says. At this point, she’s noticed that a lot of men will end the conversation, possibly because they’re intimidated, or they figure that they don’t have much to talk about. 

 

Also, Blythe isn’t so good-looking that a man would press on just based on her looks. 

 

“Wow,” the man replies, apparently undeterred. “You must be pretty smart then.” 

 

Blythe makes a noncommittal sound and looks down, hoping that he’ll finally take the hint. 

 

“What do you want to do with it? Are you going to teach?” he asks. 

 

Blythe sighs. “I’d really prefer to work.” 

 

“I just want to have a conversation,” he protests. “I’ve never met a nuclear physicist.” 

 

Blythe feels her hard-won calm dissolve. “This is the only time I have to catch up on my reading, sir. I’m sorry, but I really have to focus right now.” 

 

He subsides, but stays where he is, and Blythe can feel the disapproval radiating off of him, making it impossible for her to concentrate. She should get up, maybe go to the bathroom, find another seat, but that feels as though she’s giving something up. It feels like losing. 

 

She shouldn’t let this guy get to her, but his unthinking appropriation of her time, his assumption that she should drop what she’s doing to talk to him, smacks of the same fucking attitude she runs across in academia. Men who casually ask her to get coffee during meetings. Men who assume she’s going to teach, rather than doing research. Men who call her sweetheart because they can’t be bothered to remember her actual name, or call her by her first name when they give their male colleagues the courtesy of their title. 

 

Men who fucking assume. 

 

She’s angry, and she’s not going to calm down if she’s sitting next to the guy who’s pouting because she won’t talk to him. 

 

Feeling shitty, she shoves her journal into her carry-on, and heads for the women’s bathroom, taking a moment to splash water on her face and take a deep breath, trying to find her calm. 

 

Blythe hears the call for final boarding for her flight, and she takes another deep breath. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll be able to lose herself in the science on the flight. 

 

She hopes. 


End file.
